Chapter 3

ChapterThree

ISLA

I won’t hurt you. I promise.

How do I convince myself of the validity of those words from the mouth of the man who pulverized his son in front of me? Because from what I witnessed and the evidence of Paul’s blood covering Bryce’s hands and the floor beneath me, Bryce could not only hurt me but also demolish me far worse than Paul ever has.

The way his rage unleashed on Paul was horrific. There was no hesitation, no remorse. He went at Paul like a feral animal. His own son. Not that Paul doesn’t deserve it—he does. There was satisfaction in seeing him humiliated on the ground, whimpering and scared. But Paul is also Bryce’s son. Anger and violence seem to be familiar traits.

Paul gets up from the floor, and I notice he’s holding an oval-shaped glass vase. “Bryce, watch out!”

Bryce moves swiftly and barely misses getting whacked in the face. Paul’s swings are erratic, his fingers barely holding on to the rim of the crystal. A loud crash is followed by the spray of small crystal pieces across the floor.

Bryce is on Paul again, attacking him worse than earlier. He isn’t holding back. I thought he was vicious before, but now he’s a monster. The loud thud of Paul’s head on the floor makes me gasp. I’m sure he’s capable of ripping Paul limb from limb. Bryce’s fist hits Paul’s face, one punch after another. Oh, God. He’s going to kill him.

My feet move on their own, almost gliding on the floor. I’m unsure what I’m doing, but I wrap my arms around Bryce’s bicep and tug. “Please stop.”

Bryce doesn’t listen to me. It’s as if there’s nothing but his rage. “Please, Bryce. You’ll kill him. You won’t be able to live with yourself if you do. He’s your son.”

Bryce growls. “He’s nothing to me.” He rolls off of Paul and gets to his feet. Paul wheezes as Bryce places his tattooed hand around his throat and drags him toward the front door. “Open the door, Isla.”

I do as I’m told, afraid to do anything but obey this man. My fear of Paul was crippling, but his father? The man is a whole other beast in his brutality.

I rush toward the large door and place my hand on the knob, turning it, not daring to refuse Bryce in his current state.

He tosses Paul out the door in an impressive display of pure strength for his age. “If I ever see you again, I’ll fuckin’ kill you. The only reason you aren’t dead is because you’re my creation, but I swear to God you don’t want to test me, Paulie.”

I start to leave after Paul, but Bryce clamps onto my wrist. “Where do you think you’re going, Isla?”

“I-I just…I think I should leave.”

“No,” he growls. “I invited you for dinner, and you’ll stay and eat.”

My eyes roam from his large hand on my wrist to his soft, dark brown eyes. Those eyes ease my fears. Yes, Bryce has displayed barbaric brutality, but his eyes show regret and compassion, two emotions I never saw in Paul’s eyes. Not once.

“Please,” he adds.

“Let’s go, Isla,” Paul demands, reaching for me. “Don’t make a stupid mistake.”

“I’m staying.”

Paul’s jaw ticks as his lips curve into a sinister smile—a smile I’ve seen many times before he beats me. “You’ll regret it, Isla. You’ve got to come home sometime.”

Bryce moves in front of me again, shielding me from Paul. “She’s never coming back.”

Paul laughs. “Of course she is. She’s not gonna sleep on the streets.”

“She’ll be fine,” Bryce says as he slams the door in Paul’s face. He locks it and rests his forehead on the wood for a second. He doesn’t say a word to me as he walks to the intercom on the wall and presses a button. “Get to my place now. Front door. If my piece of shit son hasn’t left the building in the next ten minutes, I want you to haul him away. I’d do it myself, but I have a guest, and killing someone in front of her wouldn’t be a good idea. Not right now, anyway.”

Killing someone? Would Bryce kill his own son? I want to say no, but the tone of his voice tells me I’d be dead wrong.

Bryce pushes a hand through his hair as he turns to me and leans against the wall. “How long has he been hitting you?”

“What?”

“I know he’s been hitting you. That fear in your eyes isn’t new to me. He hasn’t smacked you once. This has been going on for a while.”

I remain quiet, unsure of what to say.

“I’ve met a lot of men like Paul in my life. Piece of shit men who have a twisted notion that controlling and abusing women is helping them. They somehow delude themselves into thinking that being a man is equivalent to being a piece of shit. Man of the house, my rules, you do as I say or else.” He steps toward me, and I retreat a little. He’s massive. You wouldn’t know he was well into his forties. “I’m going to ask you again, Isla. How long has he been hitting you?”

I don’t know what to say. How do I confess the truth he seems to want but probably can’t handle? My mouth goes dry. I’m unsure how I utter the words that will make me sound more pathetic than I already feel. “It started after a month of dating.”

Bryce tilts his head and rubs his eyes. “He’s been treating you like trash for a year? An entire year of dealing with that abhorrent behavior?”

Shame covers me like ice in a blisteringly cold blizzard. “I’m pathetic.”